


growing pains

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Other, POV Second Person, Post-Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5664922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asriel is growing up. Chara doesn't like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	growing pains

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is??? this isn't what I set out to write, it just kind of happened
> 
> warnings for codependent thinking and brief discussion of age gap relationships. there are no actual age gap relationships present, but chara worries about the ambiguity of their situation, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Asriel has grown another inch. This is unacceptable. 

You tell him so, but he doesn't take you seriously. He just laughs and says, "It's not like I can help it, Chara."

" _Try,_ " you command, but apparently his newfound height is already going to his head, because he doesn't _listen._ He just laughs and smooths down your unkempt hair.

You push away his hand, irritated. "You're not allowed to get any older," you say tersely. 

"We're the same age," he points out.

"That's not the point!"

"What _is_ the point?" 

The point is that the two of you are sitting on the couch together and you are the one slotted against him when it used to be the other way around. The point is that his arm around your shoulder is _heavy -_ not enough to be uncomfortable, but still. The point is that his horns are finally beginning to bud and you yourself will never, ever have horns. But if you say any of these things, he'll just think you're being petty.

You heave a frustrated sigh. "I don't know." 

The kiss he presses to your hair is almost enough to make you feel better, but not quite.

 

* * *

 

"Doesn't it feel weird?" you ask when Asriel comes to you with yet another sweater he's outgrown. You're already wearing one from just the other week and you're practically swimming in it. It's strange to think that it's too small for him now, even though he's standing right in front of you and you can see with your own two eyes just how big he's grown since then.

"Does _what_ feel weird?" he asks.

"Being so tall now." A note of irritation creeps into your voice. How can he not know what you're talking about? Hasn't he been noticing it too? 

"It's not _that_ weird," he replies. "It feels good, actually. I mean, I was supposed to be like this - heck, it's almost like this is how I already _was._ My body's just finally catching up with the rest of me."

He says it so easily that you know he's telling the truth. "Oh." 

Must be nice. 

He hands you the neatly-folded sweater. The shade of green reminds you of the matching set the two of you had worn as children.

You take it, and for a moment you can only stare at it. We used to share clothes, you think unhappily. 

Well, even if you can't offer him a sweater in return, at least you can still wear his. You pull it over your head, over the shirt you're already wearing, but don't tug it all the way down, instead opting to bury yourself in his scent; leaves and sunshine and soap. Traces of him cling to it for now, but soon the smell will fade, and then he will have well and truly left the shirt behind. 

"Chara?" Asriel asks, sounding amused. "What are you doing?"

"Go away," you say. Your voice is muffled. "I'm in Sweater Town."

"Can I visit Sweater Town too?"

You tug his shirt down and pop your head out through the hole. "You wouldn't fit," you say, your voice accusing.

He laughs and his arms encircle you. He squeezes and you reluctantly squeeze him back, even though your arms can barely fit around his waist. 

 

* * *

 

He eats and he eats and he eats and he eats. Toriel is pleased. 

"Eat as much as you like," she says with pride at breakfast one morning, as though her cooking is what is personally responsible for Asriel's sudden growth spurt. "I shall get you more." 

You half expect her to make a comment about how he's a _growing boy_ or about how he's turning into a _fine young ma_ n, but she spares you that, at least. 

As she bustles about the kitchen getting another plate of breakfast ready, you slurp the chocolate dregs of your cereal. Frisk finishes their toast. You wind up lingering over the bowl, and so they finish first for once.

They stand and turn to Asriel, signing,  _I'll wait._

"I'm sorry," he replies, looking embarrassed. "I'm just really hungry today."

"You're always hungry," you mutter under your breath. It must have come out a little bit colder than intended, because a flash of hurt surprise crosses his face, and you lower your eyes, suddenly ashamed.

You don't want to deal with this today. You stand and take your bowl into the kitchen, then storm back to your room without another word.

You come back down to say goodbye, the way you always do. As you're hugging him, you slip a chocolate bar into his backpack. A silent apology. 

 

* * *

 

"You're the only one I can trust anymore," you tell Frisk one day. You're lying with your head in their lap, letting them fiddle with your hair as you pretend to pay attention to an animated movie about a bulldog following its dreams. 

They give your head a sympathetic pat. Thankfully, their hand is just as small as ever. 

"He's a traitor," you continue. You don't specify who you're talking about, but judging from the way Frisk nods, they already know. "At least _you_ have the decency to stay the same size. What _he's_ doing is just plain condescending."

They raise their eyebrows and you sniff.

"Come on, it's a _little_ condescending."

They raise their eyebrows even further. You're actually a bit surprised that they can even go that high on such a little face. 

"Whatever! It's still unreasonable. I might have to cut off his legs just to even things out again." 

They place a firm hand upon your hair, silently shaking their head, and you roll your eyes.

"You know I don't mean it."

They smile at you then, patting your head once more. With a sigh, you turn back to the TV, trying to pay attention to the adventures of a talking dog as Frisk begins to braid your hair.

 

* * *

 

You stop sleeping in his bed.

You'd always slept together, before. You'd had your own bed, of course - Toriel and Asgore had seen to that, not wanting you to feel as though there wasn't room for you - but Asriel had always been right there across from you, being his warm, squishy, comforting self. How could you resist? 

Sleeping in his bed had become such a part of your routine that you'd actually begun to wonder if you could even sleep alone anymore. Fortunately, the tradition had continued long after the two of you had regained your bodies, often with the inclusion of Frisk in a sandwich of hugs and tangled limbs, and so you hadn't had to find out. 

But then he'd started complaining of the itching on his scalp and the aching in his limbs. Then his horns had started coming in and his limbs had started coming in as well and suddenly he was _big._ You wouldn't call him intimidating, exactly, but still, you couldn't even look at him these days without experiencing that unhappy little twinge of discomfort. 

It wasn't that he was growing up - it was that he was doing it without you. It was that you couldn't possibly catch up. He was getting taller, he was looking down on you, and now his very presence was like a constant, aching reminder of your own inadequacy.

You look long and hard at your body in the mirror one day. It's about what you'd expect. You're taller now, but not yet tall enough. You're round in all the places you don't want to be. Your hair is still too feathery, your face is still too soft. You look young, and, well, you _should_ look young. You're basically a kid still. But Asriel - 

Well. 

You stop sleeping in his bed.

 

* * *

 

He comes to you one morning almost on the verge of tears. 

"It's broke," he whimpers. 

"What broke?" you ask. You're sitting by the window in the kitchen with a mug of tea and a book, watching the sky turn pink. It's early, far earlier than you'd have normally expected him to be awake. You yourself have been up and dressed for nearly half an hour, but only because you hate sleeping, preferring to pop out of bed as soon as your eyes are open. 

He holds out the locket.  _Best Friends Forever._

"I took it off yesterday when I had a shower," he blubbers. "And then this morning I remembered, and I wanted to put it back on, but it was too s-small, and the chain..."

He trails off.

Wordlessly, you take the locket from him. 

Your own is hanging around your neck. Never once have you taken it off. Never once have you been worried that it wouldn't fit. You guess you should've seen this coming, what with the way Asriel's been shooting up and all, but -

"Guess you can't wear it now," you say. You shove your chair back as hard as you can, letting it screech against the tile. From the corner of your eye, you see him flinch.

You drop the locket in the garbage can and storm upstairs for the second time that week.

By the time you go back downstairs, he's wearing the locket again, this time strung on a piece of dark green wool that you suspect was taken from your knitting.

You never say _I'm sorry -_ you know it wouldn't come out right - but you string your locket on a matching piece of wool and make a mental note to buy him a replacement chain.

Your mouth lingers on his cheek when kissing him goodbye. You have to strain to reach him, but he leans down to meet you, and you take it as a sign that you're forgiven. 

 

* * *

 

Even if Asriel forgives you, you don't forgive yourself. Your guilt follows you for the rest of the day, nagging at you like a pebble in your shoe that you can't quite shake loose. 

You don't sleep well that night. You wonder if you'd have slept any better if you'd had your usual furry pillow. The thought alone makes you want to scream. 

Normally, your brain has a thousand different nightmares to choose from when you dream. Sometimes you dream of poison burning in your blood. Sometimes you dream of dust scattered over laughing yellow flowers. Sometimes you dream of a darkness that leaves you utterly alone with yourself and your thoughts and offers no escape. 

But lately you've been having only one dream, the same dream, over and over and over again, and this dream is infinitely worse than any of the others. 

In it, you're with Asriel, together on the surface for the first time after getting your bodies back. At first, he's just as you remember. He's small and he's soft, with long, floppy ears and paw pads, made up everything good in this world, everything kind, everything worth protecting. His body is new, crafted through a branch of magic that you can never hope to understand, and he is flawless, even in his flaws. His sweater may be threadbare, but it's threadbare in the way that you remember. Not a thing has changed. 

But then he reaches out to you and you make the mistake of meeting his eyes. In them, you see the one thing that cannot be repaired.

You see a kind of exhaustion that you have never seen before. It's an ancient kind of bone-deep weariness, an accumulation of time upon time, of endless realities and infinite resets spent trapped inside a body that wasn't his. You see it and you know that you could drown in that much time, lose yourself in all those years, and you realize all at once that Asriel must be even stronger than you had ever _dreamed_ if he can break the surface of all that time and still find the strength to smile at you. 

"We did it, Chara," he says, and his fur is golden in the setting sun, making him look almost holy. For a split second, he's not Asriel at all, not the one you know. He's too old, too powerful, too much, and you are just a ghost, a ghost who's been asleep for far too long. You are nothing compared to him. He is everything compared to you. 

"We did," you agree when you finally find your voice. "It only took a couple hundred years." 

He laughs. Everything about him shines, and when he wraps his arms around you - the fiercest, tightest hug you've ever had, and  _when did he get so strong_ \- you almost pull away, suddenly afraid that he will burn you. 

But that's silly, you tell yourself. Asriel is Asriel. He'll always just be Asriel. Everything is fine. The two of you are fine.

You are still afraid. 

And that is when you wake.

You've had this dream so many times by now that you think you should be used to it. Yet every time it happens, you wake up in your bed with eyes full of hot, bitter tears, just as angry as you've always been. The feeling never fades. It only digs deeper. 

Before, the two of you had been each other's hearts, beating with the sole intention of keeping one another alive. You had never voiced this sentiment out loud, but you had known it all the same, in that distant, wordless way that you'd known everything as a child. Things like _don't talk_  and _it doesn't really matter._ Feelings never said, but nevertheless understood.

And now everything was changing, and suddenly you didn't _know_ anymore. 

What was Asriel even doing? When did he decide he didn't need you?Could one outgrow their heart? 

You think of the locket on the broken chain and wonder if he already has. 

You'd seen him as a demon and a god, and somehow, the Asriel from your dream - the one who looks exactly like the friend you've always known, but bigger, stronger, older - is infinitely more terrible, because you know it's not a nightmare, but the truth, and you can't catch up, you can't catch up, you can't catch up. 

 

* * *

 

Somebody's knocking at your door. You make a face, mostly for your own benefit - it's not like anybody's watching - and set down your book to go and answer it. You suspect you already know who it will be. 

You open up the door, and, much to your not-at-all surprise, there stands Asriel. He's already the very picture of contrition, entire body drooping as he shyly folds his hands behind his back. "Have you been avoiding me?" he asks, looking for all the world as though he's on the verge of kicking out his foot in an _aw shucks_ kind of way. 

"No," you lie, and you move to close the door again.

He sticks his foot out, forcing it open. "Can I come in?" he asks. 

You can recognize determination when you see it, and with a _tch_ of irritation, you step aside, waving your arm in a _go ahead_ kind of gesture. 

Asriel steps into your room and gingerly sits upon the bed. You suppose he  _has_ to be careful. He might actually break it at this point.

"Um," Asriel begins, twisting his hands together in his lap. God, he looks nervous. The part of you that doesn't kind of hate him right now kind of wants to take those hands in yours, the way he often does for you when you're getting fidgety, but you don't. Your hands are too small. His would dwarf yours in comparison. They wouldn't do him any good. 

You let the silence linger. You're not about to be the one to speak first, not when he's the one interrupting your alone time. 

"We haven't really...hugged, or anything, in a while," he says at last. His eyes flicker back and forth between his lap and your carefully-neutral face. "We...did that all the time, before. Is something...wrong?" 

"I don't know," you lie. 

Already you can feel the urge to fidget. You want to dig your nails into your palms, to drum your fingers on your lap, to rock back and forth as hard as you can. You do none of these things, instead wrapping your arms around yourself and squeezing, as though you can somehow make yourself small enough to disappear. 

You wonder, will this be enough? If I never touch Asriel again, if Asriel never touches me, will my own hands be enough? 

You already know they won't be. Hugging yourself has never been the same. Holding your own hand is nothing more than holding your own hand. You can't trick your body into feeling wanted through mere sensation alone. 

"Did I do something to upset you?" Asriel asks. 

That one is a little trickier. Technically, yes; he was growing, after all, and more than that, he wasn't _stopping._ But then he'd told you earlier that it wasn't something he could help, and as much as it annoyed you, you knew that he was right. If he _could_ help it, you know he would've stopped by now, all because you'd asked him to. 

The old Asriel would've, anyway. 

A sudden lump rises in your throat. You swallow, hard, then ask, "Didn't you think we'd always be the same?" 

Asriel blinks. "Huh?"

"When we were growing up," you clarify. "Didn't you think we'd always...match?"

You sound helpless, even to your own ears. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe you had been the only one who'd ever thought that you could match him step-for-step forever. 

"Of course not," Asriel says, looking puzzled. "I'm a monster. You're not. We were always going to be different."

It's a statement of fact, and an obvious one at that, but it hurts to hear him say it all the same.

You are not a monster. You will never be a monster. You're a human, and you will grow as humans do, and live as humans do, and die as humans do. And Asriel will surely realize that - will realize just how young you really are -  and then he'll think, _wow, I can't believe I ever dedicated so much of my life to this stupid little kid._

You squeeze your arms around your middle even tighter. 

"We had the sweaters, though," you say before you can stop yourself. "And the lockets." 

He looks more baffled now than ever before. You feel as though you're drowning, water rising all around you and leaving you to flounder, not quite capable of reaching all the words you need to make him understand. But maybe he can see your panic, because he chooses then to reach out to you, and because you're weak, you let him take your hand and draw you onto the bed beside him.

You sink into the dip of the mattress, practically falling into his side, but, well, that's okay. You haven't been this close in ages and you've felt a little cold without him. 

"Is this about me getting taller?" he asks when you sit down. 

"Maybe," you reply. You're not being difficult, you just don't _know._

"But you're getting taller, too," he points out.

"Not tall enough."

You bite your lip to keep yourself from saying more. He'll think you're being petty; he'll think you're being mean. You wonder just how hard you'll have to bite before you start to taste your own blood. 

"Tall enough for what?" he asks. 

You don't say anything. But maybe you don't have to, because even in the face of your silence, recognition is gradually beginning to dawn on Asriel's face. 

"Is this one of those things where you say the problem is one thing but it's actually something else entirely?" he asks, and you scowl, suddenly overcome with the urge to kick him.

Before you actually can, he takes your chin in one of his stupid enormous monster paws and tilts your face so that you're looking at him. You almost flinch when you meet his eyes. They're old. They're so, so old. 

"Tell me what's actually wrong," Asriel commands, but it's a gentle command, and you hate it. You hate how kind he is. If he'd been demanding or impatient, if he'd been just a little pushier, you could've thrown a tantrum and felt justified, but instead you feel compelled to answer. 

Shit. You might as well try. He's always been the best at getting you to say the things you'd rather not. Maybe you should save some time and get right to it. Like ripping off a band-aid.

"I feel like I can't keep up with you," you say when you can speak. Your throat clenches when you do, but Asriel doesn't interrupt, doesn't look away. He just waits, lets you find your words. "When we first came back, you came back... _older_ than me, and now you'rebigger than me, too." 

"Chara, we're the same - " 

"We are  _not!_ " 

Asriel falls silent, looking startled. 

You take a deep breath. Then another, and another. When you have your voice again, you tell him, "Don't be stupid, Asriel." And maybe it's not fair of you to bring it up, not when you know how much he hates to think about it, but - "You reset all those times and I _didn't._ I was just _asleep,_ and then I woke up, and you're...like, twelve hundred and six or something now, and I'm barely even a teenager, and now you're growing up and I'm _not,_ not in the same way. Don't you think that's kind of weird?" 

He doesn't answer you at first, but when he does, it's not what you expect. 

"Do you not like me anymore?" Asriel asks. His voice is trembling, just the way it did when you were young and he was on the verge of tears. It's probably a sign of just how horrible you really are that it actually makes you feel a little better for his reaction to be so familiar. 

Your eyes fall to your lap. Your fists are clenching and unclenching over and over again.

"I do," you say. "I _do._ I just don't..." Clench, unclench. Clench, unclench. "What about me? Aren't you bored of me?" 

He's seen everything already. You are nothing new. You are just a child, in mind and body and soul. 

When he reaches out to you, you almost flinch, then cringe at your own instinct. You should _know_ better. You know his hands are soft. His touch has never been too rough, never sharp or bruising, never anything but kind and god, you're stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. 

He pulls you into his stupidly broad chest and you lean into him. You feel so small compared to him. 

"I could tell you that I've always liked you and always will," he says, sounding thoughtful, as though pondering a puzzle. "But I don't know if you'd believe me."

"Probably not," you answer dryly. 

"Yeah, I figured." 

He rests his chin upon your head and you tuck your own into the hollow of his throat. You try to make your breaths align with his. 

"I'll say this instead," he says at last.

You brace yourself for impact. 

"I'm selfish, Chara." A hand moves behind your head, fingers carding through your tangles. "Really, really selfish. And back when I was... _you_ know...I did everything but spend time with you, and that was the only thing I wanted."

Your cheeks grow warm.

"Do you really think I wouldn't want to take advantage of this, now that we're together again?" 

You're scowling now, but there's a smile somewhere underneath your frown. "Don't be like that," you command, drawing back so you can glare at him. "You're being sappy."

"I'm being honest!" Asriel protests, but he's grinning now. 

"I don't _like_ it." You kind of do.

"Do you want me to stop?" 

When you don't answer, his mouth curves into a satisfied smile. "Everything we're doing now is new to me," he continues, fingers twisting in your hair. "Because you're here again, and _that's_ new. So I won't get bored. Besides, even though I'm taller than you now, it's not like I'm going to change in any way that really matters."

Your heart can't help but sink a tiny bit at that.

"You said it felt like your body was finally catching up with you," you say. You don't mean to sound accusing, or, well, maybe you do; either way, it happens. You think of years upon years spent trapped inside an endless loop. You think of your own time spent in limbo, barely conscious. You think of Asriel and how he's everything that is and was and ever will be and how you yourself are nothing at all. You think that he's a _goddamn liar_ if he thinks that doesn't count for anything. 

But he doesn't deny it; he just nods.

"Yeah," Asriel agrees. His fingers in your hair grow even tighter. "And I also said that I spent that whole time wanting you. My body's catching up with the me that's always cared about you more than anything." 

Your cheeks grow even hotter.

He's holding you, you suddenly realize. He doesn't have to, but he is. He's choosing now to keep you close to him, to bury his fingers in your hair and to look at you as though you're something very, very precious indeed, and suddenly you think that you might die. 

You lean into him once more, no longer capable of meeting his gaze.

This time when you're slotted against him, it doesn't feel like you are being overshadowed. Instead it feels like filling in the gaps. 

His shoulders stoop forward as he hugs you, enveloping you in him, and everything is Asriel, exactly how it should be

You know the nightmare you've been having is more memory than dream, but what your mind never seems to get right is how Asriel had been the one to end the hug that day, pulling away so that he could place his hands upon your shoulders and lean in for a kiss, mouth soft and dry against your own.

He does the same thing now. And, well. If he cares enough to lean down for you, then maybe straining upwards isn't such a bad thing after all. 

 

* * *

 

Asriel has grown another inch. You guess this is acceptable. 

You tell him so and he kisses you on the forehead. "I'm glad I have your approval," he says, voice teasing. 

You're not about to let him get away with mocking you, and so you add, "If you're going to be so goddamn big, I'd better see some benefits." 

In the end, it's the quality of the piggyback rides he gives you now that finally convinces you that having the World's Tallest Boyfriend might not be such a bad thing after all.

**Author's Note:**

> friendly reminder that my fanfic twitter is [@lumabops](https://twitter.com/lumabops). it's locked because of Reasons but if you send a follow request I will definitely confirm it because I like attention


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